


When Will The Mist Rise?

by Butideasdontdie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron and Alexander are friends, Anxiety, Co-Dependency, College AU, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jamilton - Freeform, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, NYC, Other, Pining, Polyamory, angsty, complicated feelings, conflicted feelings, forlorn, fuck buddies, i'll add more tags as i go along, modern day AU, panic disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butideasdontdie/pseuds/Butideasdontdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At what point did things change so drastically?<br/>Why did his heart feel like it was burning in his chest?<br/>How did the animosity grow into something almost adoring? </p><p>Alexander and Thomas were difficult to explain, but they had something going on. If only they could admit it to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly going out on a limb here writing this. I was feeling angst Jamilton coming on while listening to the songs "Landfill" and "Smother" by Daughter, so go ahead and listen to that while you read.

This sort of thing, Alexander decided, was sort of like an addiction. Something unhealthy and leading towards an awful crash, yet it had such an effect; always drawing him in for more, more, more. He craved the feeling he got, the thrill and exhilaration and adrenaline. 

More than that, the feeling of completion. Because, he decided silently within the safety of his own mind, this was the one thing that truly made him feel complete. And that's exactly why it was wrong.

That's exactly why it terrified him. 

‘It.’ 

The unnameable hazard that always had him crawling back for more and more, unabashedly on his knees. 

Thomas.

Jefferson, of course. No other Thomas he knew was quite like that one. 

It was a dangerous game he was playing, and he knew it. It's true that the saying goes “keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” but he didn't suppose the saying meant intimately close. 

Alexander threw his head back in the dim lighting of the room, forcing a false moan to drift from his lips as the ghost of large hands graced over his hips. No, he had delved far too far into his own mind to really feel the pleasure at all. 

Instead he continued thinking, finally taking a moment (the wrong moment, his mind reminded him) to think about what he had done. What they had done. 

Certainly the two had never meant for these happenings to become so intimate. They had begun as unfeeling hookups full of the same animosity held in their arguments and debates; somehow the hate-fucking developed into chaste embraces, heated gazes, and empty promises in the heat of the moment. 

It had gone too far.

“Alexander,” Thomas groaned out in the midst of an upward thrust, eyes clenched shut and hands grasping harshly at his hips. Alex frowned at the indication- at the full use of his first name- and looked away vaguely. His heart wasn't supposed to clench at the sight of Thomas. 

Who had known that things could change so drastically?

Thomas let his eyes fall open after a moment, lids hooded as he gazed down at the man below him. His thighs tensed against the edge of the bed as he swooped down to press an open-mouthed kiss against Alexander’s lips. 

Alexander. Thomas. First name basis. So, so intimate.

But Alexander didn't respond to the kiss, didn't kiss back. 

Thomas pretended not to notice- pretended his heart didn't tighten in his chest at the denied affection. Not like it would matter, anyway. Thomas didn't care. Alexander didn't care. 

It was a fuck, that was all.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” the broader man breathed into Alexander’s ear as his hands roamed his body greedily. He could take all that he wanted- Alex didn't care. Alex didn't want anything from himself. Thomas could take it. Thomas could have it all. 

But did Thomas want it all?

Alexander remained silent in thought, hardly aware of the voice whispering in his ear. His own eyes were heavily lidded and stinging in a familiar way, and if it were not for the darkness of the room, he was sure Thomas would notice a certain blotchy redness there. 

Thomas’s hands slipped under Alexander’s hips, pulled him closer to his own body in order to drive himself deeper into Alexander’s- he was looking for a reaction. Something, anything. Alex was being silent. He was never silent. No, never could he seem to have his mouth shut- not while fucking, not while being under ministrations, not while writing, or debating, or- 

But no, Thomas couldn't think about that side of things. This wasn't Hamilton, his enemy, the man he hated with every fragment of his being- this was Alexander. His lover. The man with whom he shared his affections. 

It was different in Alexander's eyes. The two were the same in and out. Alexander was Hamilton and Hamilton was Alexander; just like Thomas was Jefferson and Jefferson was Thomas. There was no separation of persona or personal attachment to one and not the other. And that's quite why things were so difficult. Why things could never work out- Thomas couldn't love all of him the way that he wanted him to, couldn't be with him outside of meaningless sex, and-

And no. No, no, no, that was not to say that Alexander wanted any of that.

No, surely he had no interest in Thomas Jefferson outside of meaningless, incredibly intimate sex.

Thomas paused for a moment, staring down at Alexander’s rapidly moving eyes after a particularly sharp thrust that might have otherwise jostled a whine out of the man. Still, though, he saw and heard no reaction. Besides the moving of his eyes, Alexander kept his face blank.

“Okay, what the fucks wrong with you?” Thomas spat out after a moment- he couldn't sound like he was concerned, could he? No, no, he didn't want it to seem like he cared. He didn't care. Right? 

“I- what?” Alex asked after a moment, eyes coming into focus as he looked down upon their connected bodies and then back up to the furrow between Thomas’s brows. 

“What the fucks wrong with you?” he repeated. “You're quiet. You're never quiet. Want to tell me what's up?” 

No. No, Alexander thought, he really doesn't. Thomas wouldn't understand. He wouldn't understand the fact that Alexander- riveting, timeless Alexander felt like he was running out of time. Like things were too fast and too slow all at once. Like he was grappling over and over again for something but like he was constantly shooting too far, missing. 

He wasn't getting any younger. Sure, he wasn't a day over 25 and was still in graduates school, but time goes by quickly. He wasn't going to be a pretty face forever, and fucking around while working to become a lawyer could be dangerous. 

Not to mention he often enough struggled with the sense of his own worth as a human being outside of his work. 

But the point was that, much to his own surprise, Alexander was growing tired of the senseless and animalistic fucking. He was tired of the unfeelingness. Feeling forlorn. 

He wanted something more. 

But that, he figured, wasn't something he could find with Thomas. Or Jefferson. Both. Either. 

For what felt like the first time, Alex struggled to find words.

“I- it's- do you,” he breathed in a shuddery breath, gaze drifting off to somewhere beyond Thomas’s shoulder. “Do you think this is wrong? This, this thing between us. Us?” Alexander asked hesitantly. He was quick to kick himself after asking. Thomas’s face seemed to fall for a second before quickly becoming void of expression, and then, something alike to annoyance filled out his features. 

“What are you even talking about? Us? It's not- this isn't-” 

And then it was turn for Alexander's face to fall- because of course. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to actually believe Thomas felt anything for him. And no, no, no, Alex obviously didn't feel anything for Thomas, either. Other than, perhaps, animosity. 

Thomas looked down, and for a second he could swear Alexander looked about ready to break. Like he was very nearly fragile in Thomas’s arms. But then he remembered that this wasn't anything real- anything that either of them would want outside of the bedroom. Alexander Hamilton wasn't quiet. He wasn't sweet or sensitive or gentle. Hamilton, that's who he was. Hamilton, with his insensitive tone and loud mouth and suffocating tone. Insufferable. 

And it made Thomas anxious, how unpredictable and dangerous Hamilton could be. Honesty, it was scary to even think about something as far out as a relationship with the man. How did he know that it wouldn't end with Thomas in shambles? He didn't. And so, he did what he could to protect himself. He put on a face and matched Hamilton’s snark with his own well placed attitude and the two made a well pair. 

Just not the way he wanted.

“Well obviously not an- an us,” Alexander bit off, sounding much more like a Hamilton than anything. “I mean- no. No, you're right. Just get on with it then,” and he looked away again, and Thomas felt his heart clenching painfully in his chest and he could feel his breath being snatched away and his eyes growing hazy and- no, this was not how they were supposed to be. This wasn't the relationship they had behind closed doors. What happened to the fucking and leaving? Why did he have to open his mouth? Why did Alexander have to open his?

But then again, wasn't that what he wanted?

Thomas got on with it, just as Alexander commanded. He leaned back to put more space between the two, gripped Alex’s thighs in the pale moonlight and wrapped his legs around his hips as he pulled Alex up by the small of his back. Then he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against the pocket of his stomach; felt a sense of pride in himself when he leaned back, leaving Alexander shivering slightly from the cool air against the wet spot. 

Alexander glanced up with a vacant expression before glancing away hastily. Not wanting everything to be ruined despite the sign of Alexander’s already flagging erection, Thomas surged forward on the balls of his feet to press into Alexander. He searched out his prostate for a moment, grinning inwardly when he heard the telltale signs that he hit something good within the man. 

But then- “there we go, babe, how's that?” 

And Thomas knew the second the words came out of his mouth that that was not what Alexander had wanted to hear; his shoulders were being shoved away, and he could hear a hitched breath that sounded eerily like a sob. In the dark of the room he couldn't quite tell, but he couldn't bring himself to take mind. Not when he himself was suddenly feeling inherently dizzy.

“Alex- what the fuck?” 

But Alex didn't say anything, just glared through the moonlight as he slid further back against the bed and away from Thomas.

He tried again.

“Babe, what is your pro-” 

“Stop! Just- just knock it the fuck off, would you? Don't call me that, Jefferson! I'm not your ‘babe!’ It's like you said- this- this is- there is no us, and I- we hate each other, don't we? So then what is this? Why are we doing this? What the hell even is this?” 

And there he went, screeching nearly at the top of his lungs and talking off Thomas’s ears as per usual. Despite the nakedness, Thomas could hardly call this Alexander anymore. No, this wasn't his lover anymore, this was Hamilton, his enemy. The bane to his being. His heart filled with panic for a moment, and then forlorn, and then, finally, an unquenchable anger. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hamilton, why do you always have to go and open up your mouth? Things were just fine the way they were- your attractive, I'm attractive, the stress and hormones have to be let out somehow!”

“Oh shut up, you dick. That's a ridiculous excuse. Really? The stress? Honestly, I'm sure you could deal with it all some other way. A man like you, I'm sure your door is flooding with beautiful people wanting in your bed. What is it then, you want to de-stress with the “insufferable Hamilton” so as to put another notch in your belt? Huh?” 

And, well, if that's the game he wanted to play, fine. 

“Maybe it is, if that's what you think! Of course you're right as always,” and if a bit of sarcasm slipped into his tone there, Hamilton was none the wiser, “you ARE insufferable. And Jesus, there are so many other people who'd love to be in your position, you know? So don't think that you're hot shit just because I let you in. I've had plenty before you, I'll have plenty after!” 

Alexander felt himself shaking, and whether it was from anger or self-loathing, he had no idea. He could feel himself falling to pieces and before he was conscious of his movement he was on his feet and dressing. Thomas stepped back for something to cover himself with, and when he turned back Hamilton was shoving past him. 

The sight sent him nearly spinning to the ground, but he gasped in a breath of air in order to keep himself from making things worse. Was Hamilton really planning on leaving his apartment and heading into the freezing January night without the coat he had shed? 

“Where the hell do you think you're going? Are you stupid?” 

Alexander spun around to flick a stinging glare at him before turning back and heading towards the door. And wouldn't that just make things so much better, if Hamilton would leave Jefferson forever to the sanctity of his home? 

It would be better that way. Jefferson could finally escape from the dreadful man that was Hamilton. He wasn't sweet and fragile, not like Alexander. 

“Fine- leave then. See if I care! Don't bother coming crawling back to me when nobody else wants to take you in at night,” he huffed, but Alexander had slammed the door before he could finish. 

Thomas fisted his hands into balls before pressing his back against the solid wooden door and sliding down to the ground. Why did everything have to be so fucked. Why couldn't Hamilton just be Alexander? Why did it have to be a package deal?

Outside the wind shrieked against Alexander’s naked ears, his face quick to numb in the unfortunate weather. He hadn't realized immediately that all he was wearing were a pair of sweatpants and an old Columbia sweater; the moment he stepped foot outside of Thomas’s apartment, however, he realized the cold truth. In the literal sense. 

He trudged forward proudly, not considering turning around to reclaim his winter coat for a moment. Would that be quite the sign of weakness? Alexander Hamilton was many things, but he prides himself in not being weak. No, he wouldn't go crawling back…

But still, stomping through the near-blizzard weather had him feeling about ready to fall over dead. A sense of dizziness was quickly flooding his senses, and it took an increasing amount of effort just to put one foot in front of the other. 

He was chilled to the bone with icicles about near growing from his chin, but he remained in tact. Within the half hour he found himself warming up at the bar of some discrete pub- he didn't catch the name, but he was sure he had been there before. Anyway, the fact of the matter was that he wasn't dying of frostbite on the sidewalk. 

Once Alexander found himself settled in an ill-lit corner of the bar, he took in the sight of his shaking hands; he was vaguely aware of the numbness that had overtaken his limbs, and the sudden burning sensation as the feeling began to return. 

He blamed the initial pain when he felt tears begin to drip from his eyes and into his crossed arms.

Alexander pulled out his phone then, fingers shaking dialing the first number that came to mind. 

“Hello?” he stuttered out hesitantly as his call was recollected, relieved to hear a response on the other end. 

~~~~~~

Needless to say, Aaron Burr was beyond surprised when he answered his phone to Alexander Hamilton in the middle of the night during early January. 

“Hello? Alexander?” he had started out, annoyed the moment his eyes spotted his name on caller ID. Why had he even bothered answering?

It wasn't the fact alone that Alexander was calling him at such a time that shocked him; the sound of the man on the other end was what did him in. 

“Aaron? Hey, I- I’m really, really sorry to be calling you right now. Honestly. It's just. I'm alone and cold and a little lost, and I could kinda use a friend right now…” the man had admitted to him. And, well, of course Aaron considered them friends, but… 

And that's exactly how Aaron Burr ended up sharing his twin-bed in his cramped room with Alexander Hamilton at the drop of a pin.

“Jesus, Alexander, you're freezing. Where's your coat?” he had asked when they sat on the bed together after entering the room. They hadn't spoken much on the car ride back, and there was no physical contact. Burr was tired and Hamilton was clearly in a poor state. But now? 

“I- I forgot it…” 

“Where did you forget it?” Burr asked; it had only just dawned on him that he truly had no clue as to why he just picked Alexander up from a shady bar in the middle of the night with no jacket and a vacant expression on his face. 

“Alex…” he drew the name out as if Hamilton was a child, waiting patiently for the answer to his question. Alexander looked down in shame, hands clenching tightly into his fists as he curled his knees up against his chest. The mattress squeaked below him. 

“It's- I left it at Jefferson’s place…” 

And just like that, Aaron understood. He thought for a moment in silence before drawing Alexander’s body against his shoulder and holding him there. 

“Oh, Alexander. What did you do?” 

Alex snorted at that, far too drained to feel the anger that otherwise might have flames within him. 

“Why do you ask that?” 

“It's you, Alex. There's always something.” 

Alexander chuckled lightly at that, but it was a bitter laugh that showed self-pity and loathing. He leaned his head against Burr’s shoulder, hands quickly going to cling ar his friends sweatshirt. 

“That's true,” he smiled sadly, eyes permanently cast to the floor. “Have you ever had something that just- felt so right? But so wrong at the same time? And you want it so much, but it could never work in a million years for so many different reasons?” 

Aaron laughed his own bitter laugh, his thought suddenly flooding with images of the past. A beautiful young woman with long dark hair and skin the color of coffee, a laugh as pure as silver and gold and all of the diamonds in the world. The image of a young man taller than him with a wide smile that could make the most bitter of people crack a grin. Eyes mischievous and kind. Compassionate. Charitable. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean.” 

“So then, you know how much it hurts?” 

Aaron's heart felt unsteady for a moment as he glanced at his friend- Alexander had his eyes closed in that moment, teeth grinding together visibly and a strained look on his face. It was clear as day that he was trying desperately not to cry.

“I know, I know,” Aaron shushed, fingers moving to brush through Alex’s hair. The man went lag against him at the movement. Aaron knew that were Alex not so tired, none of this would probably be happening. The man was drained emotionally and physically- in need of a friend. Aaron was willing to be there for him. Willing to be there for Alexander like no one was for him. 

“It's gonna be okay. You know? It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine.” 

And then the both went quiet, and Alexander was maneuvered against the bed with his back to Aaron’s chest as he was held; the both drifted off to sleep before long, Aaron’s fingers rubbing monotonously through his friends hair. He knew. Oh, he knew.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and reminiscence; a re-cap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not updating for a month- I've been pretty busy. And honestly? I'm probably going to get even busier. Thank you for the patience, though!

Thomas could remember the day he first met Hamilton. He could remember with crisp detail.

 

He could remember the blazing heat of the early summer sun that was beating down on his shoulders and the dark pavement beneath his feet, the pull of his coiled hair away from his scalp and the tight elastic band holding it all in place, the weight of his luggage gripped in one hand while the other balled into a fist. 

 

A man, shorter in stature and with a lighter looking figure, on his knees beside Thomas' feet; Thomas' non-fat soy iced java latte all over his expensive shoes. 

 

A glare that matched his own, an informal and rather rude introduction, and the both had come to the conclusion that they had each met their new nemesis. 

 

"Do they watch where they're going where you come from? Or do you rich southern boys just expect people to pave you a golden path," were the first words that he had heard after the two impacted, and he had felt a bitter snarl grow onto his features as his heart began to race. 

 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize street rats like you were incapable of looking out in front of you. See, where _I_ come from, we step out of the way and excuse ourselves in this sort of situation. I wouldn't expect someone like you to know that." 

 

A glint had sparkled in the man's eye at Thomas's words, and despite the threat of anxiety brewing in his stomach at the confrontation and new surroundings, he was eager to hear what the other was going to say. 

 

"You know what? I have somewhere to be. I'm sorry out in the backwoods of- what, Georgia?- they don't teach you how to walk with other people on a sidewalk, but I'm sure with enough time and effort you'll get the hang of it," and as he pulled himself off of the ground-," oh, and I think you've got a little something-something on your shoes. Whoops?" and then he was gone. 

 

It was hate at first sight. 

 

The next time the two crossed paths was after Alexander's first political science class of the year. Of course Thomas just so happened to be in the library at the same time as Alexander, in the same room as Alexander, reaching for the same book as Alexander. He still didn't know his name. 

 

"Ah, so first you ruin my shoes and then you steal my reading material?" 

 

Hamilton had done doubled back, nearly falling from the chair he had to stand on to reach the damned encyclopedia. 

 

"Well hello to you too," he glowered with a falsely chipper smile and a clipped tone, eyes growing wide at the sudden unexpected and unwanted company. 

 

"Yeah, hey- wanna let go of the book now?" 

 

The answer was no. 

 

He scoffed, "I was here first," and after a beat, "I'm guessing you go here, then?" 

 

"If you're referencing the school, then no, sadly. I graduated from the college of Joseph and Mary nearly half a decade ago. Politics- New York City- new job. Not that any of that concerns you. And as for the encyclopedia? I believe I had a hold on it first." 

 

Alexander goggled and puffed his cheeks at the older man immaturely as he contemplated the man before him. His gaze lingered as he tried to calculate an age, and Jefferson could feel himself heating under the pressure of his look. God, was the boy irritating. 

 

"Are you even old enough to go here? You look 17." 

 

"I'm 23, thanks." 

 

Thomas locked the number away for safe keeping as he broke eye contact. He stood still for a moment before pulling his arm sharply back, the encyclopedia in his grasp. There was a brief moment of gasping silence before Alexander went tumbling from the chair he stood on and onto the cold, hard floor.

 

"Hmm, looks like there's a reoccurring theme of you being on the floor..." and Thomas could read the library card that had fell from his pocket where he stood, "Hamilton."

 

"Oh fuck off," he had groaned as his hands curled around his tilted frame.

 

"Gladly." 

 

 The third time that the two met was perhaps the longest and most grueling in comparison. Thomas, despite his endearing southern roots, was certainly not all alone in the grand city of New York. No, Thomas Jefferson had wealth and family, and through the combination of those things he had friends and allies. In other words, he had one Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette. A companion, for a lack of better words. 

 

The only problem was that Lafayette just so happened to be a starving artist in the form of a model- He and Thomas had met through a family connection whilst in Paris many years prior and had hit it off immediately. When Thomas had learned that Gilbert was travelling to the states as a part of his contract with his agency, Thomas had been ecstatic. The bleak job offer as a government official in downtown NYC had grown with fervor into a bright and exciting opportunity to rekindle his friendship with his french comrad. 

 

Anyway, the starving artist that Lafayette was led to many social outings in crowded places, and he could hardly be seen without company. And so, many a time had Thomas been dragged along with heels pressing into the ground and a wide, fake grin bearing on his face. In most cases, he was able to find himself a corner to silently coddle a drink and rethink his choice in friends. 

 

"Ah, Alexander, my friend! Come, come!" Thomas heard Lafayette call at the same time he felt his fingers grabbing eagerly at his suit cuffs. A deep breath in kept his panic at bay as he prayed to any deity that the night would go by fast.

 

"Thomas! This here is my dear friend Alexander Hamilton, Alexander, mon amie, this is my best friend Thomas Jefferson!"

 

Thomas smiled lightly at the endearment at being called his best friend, but his mind was ever presently reminding his of the eerily cheerful man in front of him and the light grip on his wrist.

 

"Oh, Laf, I'm afraid that- _Thomas_ \- and I have already met. Isn't that right, Mr. Jefferson?" 

 

Alexander smirked widely at him, a stupid smarmy look plastered across his face as he twirled a stray strand of hair around his pointer finger. Thomas grinned wide through bare teeth, forcing himself to act with polite hostility. 

 

"Yes, Lafayette, Hamilton and I are well acquainted by now-"

 

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't say that we're _well_ acquainted, but..." 

 

Between the two Lafayette stood with an amused gaze, hands hovering in the air for a prolonged period of time before finally falling onto a shoulder of each of his friends. 

 

"Good!" he laughed heartily, "then you can take this time to, how you say, make fine acquaintance!" and with that Lafayette was off and rambling to a busy body nearby to bring attention to his agency. As soon as he disappeared, both men dropped the niceties. 

 

"I don't like you," Jefferson glowered once alone. Hamilton quirked an eyebrow at him, taking a moment to step forward too far into Thomas's comfort zone. His hip slumped in a stereotypically feminine way as he looked up at Thomas with a chesire gaze. 

 

"Oh, I don't think I like you either, _Thomas_ ," he spat, eyes blazing with a sort of excitement, "but, Lafayette did say that we should make friends. I didn't come here to disappoint." 

 

"No, Lafayette said we need to make acquaintances. We are acquainted, so I see no point in being around you any longer." He made to move but was quickly pulled back by a sharp tug to his wrist. 

 

"I think-"

 

"I think that you shouldn't touch me," Thomas seethed after the initial waves of anxiety rolled over him- it was too much, too many people, too loud, too much Alexander. But Alexander only narrowed his eyes and took a brief step back. 

 

"Lafayette wants us to talk."

 

"Jesus fucking- fine, we'll talk, okay?"

 

Alexander smiled brightly at the promise, hands flying into the air as he whooped. Thomas watched irritably as the small man all but skipped over to the bar, pulling two chairs out before falling ungracefully into one. 

 

"How old are you?" Alexander asked immediately- before Thomas was sitting, even. 

 

Thomas lifted an eyebrow tiredly and muttered something about needing a drink before answering.

 

"29."

 

"Daaaaamn, you're kinda old, aren't you?"

 

Thomas wasn't sure in Lafayette's friendship was worth this. 

 

Thomas moved to stand, hands slamming down noiselessly on the hard wood of the bar as he gathered his wits- Alexander was much faster however, and a pleading look graced his face in the form of an apology. 

 

"I don't have a mind to mouth filter, you'll have to excuse me. Please don't leave? 29 isn't really that old. It's kinda young, actually. I mean, it's not like you're 30, right? Ha..." awkward silence ensued in which Thomas merely grimaced vaguely over Hamilton's shoulder and Hamilton smiled strangely back at him.

 

"I still don't like you."

 

"What?" Alexander cried out, his body straightening right away, "why the fuck not? I'm being nice! Well, I mean, I'm not being _mean_..."

 

"You ruined my shoes, spilled my $6 starbucks, tried to steal my encyclopedia, and now you're trying to get to know me in the most uncomfortable way possible."

 

"Okay, firstly, you're the one who ran into me, so none of that stuff is my fault- that encyclopedia was the libraries, and you stole it from me, anyway- and I'm only trying to make friends like Lafayette told me to!" 

 

"Do you always do what he tells you to do, then?" Thomas spat out with newfound harshness, his eyes rolling at the other man's excuses. Alexander frowned deeply at the near accusation and made to stand. 

 

"I don't do what anyone tells me. I'm my own man. And you know what? Fuck you. You're kind of an asshat, you know that? I don't know why Laf is friends with you. I'm leaving."

 

And with that, he was gone.

 

Thomas didn't seem to be feeling any better about himself.

 

In the present day, Thomas smiled sadly at himself. He could remember those first meetings like he watched them on the back of his hand day in and day out.  He couldn't bring himself to understand why he was so effected by Hamilton, especially when the two had butted heads so intently for the longest time. In fact, every meeting after those three for the next few months had been alike. Were it not for their mutual friendship with Lafayette, it would be needless to say that the two would have barely had any contact. With the months came heated anger and rivalry, a challenge at every corner. Who's a better friend to Lafayette? Who's better at debating? Who knows more about what? And on and on and on.

 

The two were head to head in every subject. 

 

It was just a matter of time, Jefferson snorted as he thought to himself, before the two of them would decide to take their stress out on one another.

 

Yes, the first time that they had sex had been completely unnecessary and unintentional. It was angry and animalistic and fast, but so, so passionate. The both of them had been pissed to their wits ends and were nearly biting at the others throat- until they actually were. 

 

Ironically enough, it had been at Thomas's place- Lafayette, of course, had dragged Alex over to his apartment without an explanation and had abandoned him there. Alexander was nearly wrapped a hole through Thomas's door by the time he had found him. A light snow fall ghosted his hunched frame and his teeth chattered lightly, but he was angry beyond belief as he shoved past Thomas and into the threshold. 

 

"What the fuck are you doing in my home?" Thomas had asked in what he believed was a calm voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

"Was this some sort of stupid fucking prank, then? Lafayette and you want a good chuckle at my expense?"

 

"Hamilton, I honestly have no clue what you're complaining about now- all I know is that I want you out of my house."

 

"No, fuck you asshole! It's fucking cold outside and you know that I'm sensitive to this weather-" and it was true, an early snow fall had began despite it barely being November- "did you plan this? Wanted to see me suffer a bit?"

 

"For god's sake, Hamilton, I don't know what you're talking about," he had sighed heavily and stepped further into the apartment and away from the nuisance crowding his space. He was followed, however. 

 

Hamilton stepped close to him, brushing his shoulder as he pleaded angrily for a phone to use because apparently his had died, complaining about the low temperatures, complaining about the company. It was all building and building and building, and they began to argue and argue and argue, and Hamilton kept stepping closer and closer and closer, and soon enough Thomas had had enough and was shoving Alexander hard against the wall. 

 

What he wasn't expecting was the moan of arousal that fell from Alexander's lips as his skull hit the hard surface behind him. 

 

Thomas glowered at the joke below him as he hoisted Alexander nearly into the air. The increased pressure on his throat only seemed to urge Hamilton on, and another groan tumbled from his lips. In the next moment, Thomas was biting harshly at the dip in Alexander's throat and curling his fingers into his tensed shoulder blades. There was no question to answer hanging in the air and there was no moment to ask, think, or consider any of it. Thomas hadn't even realized he needed or wanted any of it until he dived right in. 

 

"Oh, fuck, Thomas, _please_ ," he had begged so prettily as his eyes fluttered shut and hands came to rest against the other man's shoulders. Thomas gulped in air as if he was drowning before leaning down again to suck at the bruise growing into Alexander's golden skin. He let his tongue pop out and lave gently at the sore spot for a moment before searching for another patch of skin to abuse between his lips. All the while Alexander whined high in his register, hands flailing as he hips thrust out in search of something to subdue him. After another moment Thomas shoved a knee between Alexander's restless thighs, grinning at the whimper that gave him. 

 

"This what I have to do to shut you the fuck up, then? Ah, nice to know," and then Thomas was reaching out and circling his arms around Alexander as he back up into the living room. He crossed the room, continuing backwards until he felt the arm of the couch behind him. Then he twirled around and shoved hard on Alexander's sternum until the man was splayed out against the expensive furniture. 

 

"You gonna fuck me or what? Jesus, if this is what you're like in bed, I'm not sure I'm interested-"

 

"Huh, is that what we're doing? I wasn't aware. You're awful demanding for someone who isn't doing any work, though, aren't you?" 

 

That had earned him a fiery glare, but it had also moved Alexander to pull hastily at his clothes, so it was honestly a better choice of words. 

 

Alexander muttered to himself as he pulled at his pants and Thomas shook his head in annoyance. True, he was more than a little turned on, but Alexander Hamilton was the best at causing disturbances in Thomas's peace. Thomas worked steadily on his own clothes while in the meanwhile, eyes glazed lightly as he took in the aggravatingly pretty man at below him.

 

Thomas could remember the voice in his mind ridiculing himself, telling him that this was not something he should do. Sexual affiliation with the enemy? Not exactly like it was on his to do list, and it surely wouldn't make him feel much better about himself. But the way that the man had looked at him... 

 

It all came out of nowhere. He hadn't even realized he found attraction in the man. No doubt he was a pretty thing to look at, but his mouth was always running and de-railing any words that he could summon. No, Alexander Hamilton had been a nuisance to him since the first moment they met. 

 

He had decidedly brushed the encounter off as loneliness and a lack of action in that department. He wasn't bad, that was for sure. No, Hamilton wasn't bad at all- Thomas spent the dark hours of the night fucking the other man into the velvet-y seat of his couch, eyes rolled back as he worked in silence. It was a hard, fast, and angry fuck that had left both men content and breathing heavily. 

 

He had called the other by his first name for the first time that night. 

 

If only, that is, to tell him to leave.

 

Oh, Thomas remembered it all. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As a note, this will probably be one of those things that are a couple of chapters long. Miny stories, I guess? We'll see where it goes.


End file.
